the floor and she pushed a few toward him. Again, I watched him, proud to see my child sharing the way I’d taught him.
There was a knock at the front door. Just as Hannah took a step to go answer it, the door swung open and in walked Susanne, one of the few women in our particular Mommy and Me group who still workedfull-time. Susanne’s husband, Brad, stayed home with their daughter so Susanne could run her highly successful insurance brokerage, but when her schedule allowed, she brought Anya to our meetings herself. Susanne was curvy, like me, with straight black hair, a ghostly white, creamy complexion, and was never seen in public without a slash of bloodred lipstick. Outside of my sister, she was also the person with whom I spent the most time. When Susanne wasn’t busy working and Charlie was with Martin, we occasionally got together for conversation and a bottle of wine. I admired her blunt nature and quick wit, not to mention her professional success. She was one of those women who seemed to balance it all, and part of me hoped by spending time with her, that particular skill might rub off on me.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said as she joined the women in the kitchen. She wore dark, pin-striped slacks and a royal purple button-down blouse. “I had a hard time getting out of the office.”
I stood up and went back to stand with the other women around the island, passing Anya as she shot past me to join the other children at play. I tucked the picture Charlie had drawn for me in my purse. “Hey, Susanne,” I said.
Her face brightened when she turned and saw me. “Hey!” She leaned over and gave me a quick, one-armed hug.
“Do you guys want a glass of wine?” Brittany asked.
I looked over and saw that she was already pouring chardonnay into thin-stemmed, silver-rimmed goblets. My mouth watered a bit seeing the cool liquid stream out of the bottle’s neck. I’d made myself a promise a month ago—no wine until after Charlie went to bed—and I’d managed to stick to it.
For the most part.
One afternoon the previous week, Charlie had woken from his nap and snuck down the hall. When he entered the kitchen, I spun around in my chair, caught with a glass of syrah in my hand. I had told myself napping counted as his being in bed.
Just a few minutes to take for myself. I don’t get pedicures or massages; I deserve
some
kind of escape.
“Can I have some of your wine, Mama?” he’d asked.
“No, monkey. Wine is for grown-ups,” I’d said. “I’ll make you some chocolate milk, though, okay?”
“Okay,” he’d said.
A few minutes later, we sat at the table together, each of us sipping our separate drinks. His gaze moved back and forth from my wineglass to my face a few times, his tiny eyebrows furrowed above the bridge of his nose. Unable to stand this scrutiny, I stood up and splashed the contents of my glass down the sink.
Now at Hannah’s, I glanced at the clock on the microwave—it was only 2:00 p.m. “It’s a little early for me, thanks,” I said, swallowing back an aching urge to join them.
“Oh, come on,” Renee said, raising her glass in a mock toast. “It’s five o’clock somewhere!”
“That’s true,” I said. With a hesitant smile, my resolve instantly vanished.
It’s only one glass. And it’s not like I’m sitting at home, drinking alone. I’m being social. It would be rude not to join them.
“Well, then, that settles it,” Brittany said. She poured a full goblet and held it out to me. “I don’t know about you, but I’m a
much
happier mommy after a cocktail. Or three.” She giggled.
“Me, too,” Renee agreed. “They don’t call it the ‘wine with dinner hour’ for nothing. Juan whines while I make dinner. Now, I just join him.” She gave her glass a little shake to emphasize her point.
I took the glass from Brittany’s hand and breathed the drink in—a light, slightly sweet, fruity bouquet filled my nose. The first swallow puckered my tongue and
There was a knock at the front door. Just as Hannah took a step to go answer it, the door swung open and in walked Susanne, one of the few women in our particular Mommy and Me group who still workedfull-time. Susanne’s husband, Brad, stayed home with their daughter so Susanne could run her highly successful insurance brokerage, but when her schedule allowed, she brought Anya to our meetings herself. Susanne was curvy, like me, with straight black hair, a ghostly white, creamy complexion, and was never seen in public without a slash of bloodred lipstick. Outside of my sister, she was also the person with whom I spent the most time. When Susanne wasn’t busy working and Charlie was with Martin, we occasionally got together for conversation and a bottle of wine. I admired her blunt nature and quick wit, not to mention her professional success. She was one of those women who seemed to balance it all, and part of me hoped by spending time with her, that particular skill might rub off on me.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said as she joined the women in the kitchen. She wore dark, pin-striped slacks and a royal purple button-down blouse. “I had a hard time getting out of the office.”
I stood up and went back to stand with the other women around the island, passing Anya as she shot past me to join the other children at play. I tucked the picture Charlie had drawn for me in my purse. “Hey, Susanne,” I said.
Her face brightened when she turned and saw me. “Hey!” She leaned over and gave me a quick, one-armed hug.
“Do you guys want a glass of wine?” Brittany asked.
I looked over and saw that she was already pouring chardonnay into thin-stemmed, silver-rimmed goblets. My mouth watered a bit seeing the cool liquid stream out of the bottle’s neck. I’d made myself a promise a month ago—no wine until after Charlie went to bed—and I’d managed to stick to it.
For the most part.
One afternoon the previous week, Charlie had woken from his nap and snuck down the hall. When he entered the kitchen, I spun around in my chair, caught with a glass of syrah in my hand. I had told myself napping counted as his being in bed.
Just a few minutes to take for myself. I don’t get pedicures or massages; I deserve
some
kind of escape.
“Can I have some of your wine, Mama?” he’d asked.
“No, monkey. Wine is for grown-ups,” I’d said. “I’ll make you some chocolate milk, though, okay?”
“Okay,” he’d said.
A few minutes later, we sat at the table together, each of us sipping our separate drinks. His gaze moved back and forth from my wineglass to my face a few times, his tiny eyebrows furrowed above the bridge of his nose. Unable to stand this scrutiny, I stood up and splashed the contents of my glass down the sink.
Now at Hannah’s, I glanced at the clock on the microwave—it was only 2:00 p.m. “It’s a little early for me, thanks,” I said, swallowing back an aching urge to join them.
“Oh, come on,” Renee said, raising her glass in a mock toast. “It’s five o’clock somewhere!”
“That’s true,” I said. With a hesitant smile, my resolve instantly vanished.
It’s only one glass. And it’s not like I’m sitting at home, drinking alone. I’m being social. It would be rude not to join them.
“Well, then, that settles it,” Brittany said. She poured a full goblet and held it out to me. “I don’t know about you, but I’m a
much
happier mommy after a cocktail. Or three.” She giggled.
“Me, too,” Renee agreed. “They don’t call it the ‘wine with dinner hour’ for nothing. Juan whines while I make dinner. Now, I just join him.” She gave her glass a little shake to emphasize her point.
I took the glass from Brittany’s hand and breathed the drink in—a light, slightly sweet, fruity bouquet filled my nose. The first swallow puckered my tongue and
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